


Words, Pleasure

by BranwellBronte



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Job, Dirty Talk, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BranwellBronte/pseuds/BranwellBronte
Summary: Crozier talks very, very dirty to Jopson, who tries to return the favor with interesting results. https://terrorkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/396.html?thread=57996#cmt57996





	Words, Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JollyRogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyRogue/gifts).



            “One stroke of my cock in you and I’ll fuck out the Father, two strokes and I’ll fuck out the Son, three and the Holy Spirit will be unholy, fucked into oblivion, but you’ll be blessed, Thomas, you’ll be blessed _and_ stretched.”

            Jopson buries his face in his hands but he’s smiling giddily underneath his palms, forehead pressed to the pillow, as Crozier shifts his knees on the bed. Jopson grabs the fabric of the pillow and moans loudly as he feels the tip of Crozier’s finger against his opening. But before Crozier slides it in, he leans over and puts his lips next to Jopson’s ear.

            “Have you ever imagined it, Thomas? Being baptized not with water on your head but with seed in your hole? Anyone can splash water on you but only I can fill you until you wish that you could see yourself as I pull out, with you dripping so much from your arse that you put the Virgin’s many tears to shame.”

            Jopson hums, eyes closed, grinning, and rubs his cheek against Crozier’s. His lapsed Catholic Captain blaspheming, ripping all the pages out of a Bible with his words, is nothing short of a miracle, the divinity invested in their bodies instead of some unreachable God. He doesn’t know how Crozier does it, spinning glorious threads of filth into a beautiful ball that he places in Jopson’s hands, spins them as fast as that fairytale creature spun straw into gold. The image hangs dreamily in his mind and he thinks this might be the way to return to Crozier some of the arousal he feels.

            “You are made of gold,” he whispers against Crozier’s ear. “You’re pure gold. All of you. Your whole body. You’re all the jewels in the world. Your cock is a one hundred carat diamond.”

            Crozier is still for a moment and then starts shaking slightly over Jopson’s back. Jopson is alarmed and tries to turn over to see Crozier’s face but all he sees his Crozier smiling fondly before he moves Jopson back into position. Jopson doesn’t know what’s just happened but he forgets about it soon enough as Crozier gently slides a finger inside him. Jopson sighs and grasps the pillow, moving back onto the sweet thickness of Crozier’s finger.

            “That’s it,” Crozier whispers as he circles his finger around. “You’re almost ready for two fingers, then three, and I’d push my whole hand inside you if both of us weren’t already starting to spill. I can’t see your cock but I know you’re wet and after I’ve fucked your arse six ways to Sunday, I’ll put my mouth around you and drink you like wine, every drop, down my throat where it belongs.” And he gently pushes a second finger into Jopson, who feels the wetness dripping from him and landing on the blanket, but blankets can be washed later, Crozier fucking him is _now_.

            Crozier juts his fingers in and then out of Jopson, adding a third one and Jopson melts, his knees wobbling. “I’m so wet,” he murmurs, “you’ve turned me into, into milk, a big jug of milk that someone’s accidentally tipped and now there’s a puddle on the floor.”

            Crozier’s fingers stop moving inside him and anxiety skips along Jopson’s nerves. He almost releases himself to turn over but Crozier leans over his back and puts his lips next to Jopson’s ear again.

            “I’m only surprised, Thomas. I’m usually the one spouting the filth that makes you hard. I’ve never heard you try to return the favor.”

            It hits Jopson like a slap on the chest. “I’m not good at it,” he whispers.

            “No, no, no.” Crozier gently tugs a lock of Jopson’s hair behind his ear. “You’re only new at it. But you’re giving it your best go and that’s a commendable thing for a man who’s learning a new trade, so to speak.”

            Jopson smiles weakly with half his mouth. “I hoped it’d bring you pleasure. I suppose it has, although not in the way I had intended.”

            Crozier presses their cheeks together again. “Don’t stop, Thomas. Say what feels right. Live by that rule in all things. In working, in playing, and in fucking. Shall we pick up where we left off and you’ll say whatever comes into your mind? Your mind is beautiful, Thomas. Don’t ever hide it from me. Please,” he says softly.

            Jopson feels tears begin to sting behind his eyes, but his heart has been wrenched in pleasure, not pain. Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier is the best man who’s ever lived and Jopson feels a freedom in his body and his vocal chords. He feels weightless and likely to float from happiness.

            “Yes,” he says softly, and then “Yes, _now_ ,” louder. “I love you, Francis. I feel like flying, but not before you pound me face down into the bed.”

            Crozier brushes his lips against Jopson’s cheek. “I love you too, Thomas. And there’s not a thing you could ask for that I wouldn’t give you. You know that. Although I won’t pound you so hard into the bed that you can’t breathe and you pass out. Are we in agreement on that point?”

            Jopson turns his head and presses his lips back against Crozier’s. “I’ll keep my head up. My chin up. Looking at the bright side of life.”

            “That’s my Thomas.”

            The pounding is perfect. “I know exactly how to find that lovely spot inside you, you know I do,” Crozier says as Jopson gasps repeatedly, trying to push himself further back onto Crozier. “But you like me to tease you because it makes your pleasure last longer than a sermon and the only words of the sermon are, ‘Give it to me,’ ‘Take me,’ ‘Make me yours,’ and ‘Fuck me so hard that I won’t be able to walk straight, fuck me so hard that I don’t remember a moment of my life when I wasn’t being fucked, fuck me so hard that all I’ll dream about at night is getting fucked and then you’ll wake me up and I’ll fuck you again, fuck you in the moonlight, then again in the morning in the sunlight, every fucking day of our lives.” Crozier bucks wildly into Jopson and spends himself with a groan and Jopson drops onto his stomach for only a moment before he’s rolled over and guiding Crozier’s head to his cock. Crozier smiles as he licks the wetness from the slit and Jopson arches his back and with his cock in Crozier’s mouth. Jopson does the talking as he writhes and thrusts his hips up.

            “I’m fucking you all the way down your throat. I’ve written you a little poem. It goes like this. ‘You can’t talk, because you’re sucking my cock.’ Do you like it? Oh, wait, you can’t answer me because my huge cock is in your mouth and you wouldn’t have it any other way. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Their eyes meet and there’s a smile in Crozier’s that Jopson matches with a grin. There’s nothing better than this, because there’s nothing better than the trust they’ve forged, from their first meeting with a handshake to their first gentle kiss, to their first rough, passionate kiss, to their first gentle lovemaking, to their later rollicking, rocking the bed lovemaking, to their current fucking like tomorrow will never come and that’s just fine. It’s perfectly fine because complete happiness is all that one lover wants for another, and when both are in joy, time could end and the pleasure and the love will still exist. The “I love you”s will echo and echo and echo forever.

            After Jopson spills long and hard into Crozier’s mouth, they lay side by side and stroke each other’s faces.

            “To our love,” Crozier says, pressing kisses around Jopson’s face.

            “To our love,” Jopson echoes. An echo that will always last. Then he smiles and bumps Crozier’s nose with his own. “I’ve got a new one.”

“Oh?” Crozier presses their foreheads together. “Well then tell me, Thomas.”

“I wrote it especially for you. Are you ready?”

“Always.”

Jopson clears his throat as he leans his lips to Crozier’s ear. “To our love and our fucking like it’s our religion, which it is, so glory to our cocks and arses, glory, hallelujah, amen.”

           

    


End file.
